The Original Sinners: The Red Years. Tiffany Reisz
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on his ankle cuffs, tied the cuff to the bedpost and neatly snipped off the excess rope. She came to the head of the bed and took each of Michael’s wrists in her hands. She spread him out like an X and tied him down. He could move neither his hands nor his feet. She bent and bit the soft skin above his wrist—a shiver passed through his body. His eyes looked to the ceiling and stared placidly at nothing. Nora knew that look, had worn it herself a thousand nights in Søren’s bed.
“Michael, stay with me.”
“I’m here.” His eyes focused again on her face. She knew how easy it was to disappear into the moment. But she wanted him to remember it, to be with her every step of the way.
“Good boy. How do you feel?”
Michael tugged on his bonds but not in a struggle. He seemed simply to take pleasure in their existence.
“Free,” he said and she knew exactly what he meant.
Nora slipped off the bed and unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. She crawled back onto the bed and sat next to Michael’s hips. She ran her hands over his skin…smooth and cool to the touch. She caressed his face, stroked his arms and lingered along his inner thighs.
Finally, when it seemed he could wait no longer, she straddled his hips, took him in her hand and guided him inside her.
Michael arched underneath her as she wrapped herself around him. She watched as his eyes closed in shocked wonder and opened again darkened with knowledge. He gasped as she pushed and clenched her muscles tight around him. She bent over, dipping her mouth to his, his lips eager and artless and tasting of snow. She remembered the last kiss Søren gave her before he penetrated her the first time. Such pleasure coupled with such pain…the pain, like the flash of a camera, rendering the moment forever fixed in her mind. Michael would remember this moment, too. She would make sure of it.
She pushed against him again and let herself enjoy his body inside hers. Closing her eyes for a moment, she imagined someone else under her, inside her, someone with blond hair instead of black, someone with brown eyes instead of silver…Nora felt her climax start to build and she pushed it back and opened her eyes.
Rising up, she reached for the candle burning beside the bed. She brought it to her carefully, not letting any of the wax drop. Michael’s eyes followed the glowing wick as Nora held it over the center of his panting chest.
“And now how do you feel?” she asked, rocking her hips to evoke another gasp.
Michael turned his gaze from the candle to her face. He wore an expression of fearful trust, of trusting fear.
“Safe,” he said.
Nora smiled down at him and let the scalding wax fall.
* * *
Søren doused Nora’s oil lamp and shut the door behind them. Zach followed Nora’s priest down another set of stairs and hallways. He stopped in front of one of the doors but did not move to open it. They faced each other across an invisible threshold.
“Why did you bring me down here?” Zach asked.
“I thought you needed to see what Eleanor is. You thought you knew her until tonight.”
“I do know her.”
“No, you merely think you know her. It’s one of her best tricks. She flirts, she teases, she confesses everything but reveals nothing. It’s the oldest magician’s trick—smoke and mirrors, misdirection. You are absolutely certain she’s here—” Søren snapped his fingers at Zach’s right ear “—when all the while she’s right over here.”
Zach looked at Søren’s right hand and saw the priest holding up his wallet.
“Nice trick.” Zach snatched his wallet and shoved it back into his pocket. “But I think I know Nora better than that.”
“Do you really? Tell me, what do you think her darkest secret is?”
“You,” Zach answered. “She was once lovers with a Catholic priest. I know that now and I couldn’t care less.”
“Me? Her darkest secret? Hardly. She keeps me a secret for my sake, not hers.”
“We’ve all done things we’re ashamed of. Everyone has a past.”
“Eleanor has a past, yes. But she has a present, too.”
Zach took a step forward and with more courage than he knew he had within him stared Nora’s priest down.
“You’re jealous,” Zach said.
“Am I?” The idea seemed to amuse him.
“Yes, because she’s found a life outside of you and away from here. She told me you want her back. But she won’t come back. She loved you once. But now you’re just a game she’s tired of playing.”
“I assure you the game has only begun.”
Zach didn’t back down.
“This game you’re playing with me is over. Show me anything you want to show me. Tell me all the horror stories you’ve got. But I know what Nora Sutherlin is.”
“Do you? What is she?”
“A writer.”
“Yes, she certainly is. And a very talented one. But a writer is not all she is, Zachary.”
“I don’t care about her private life. Whatever you say, she’s no monster.”
Søren sighed and Zach saw something unexpected in the man’s eyes, something like sympathy.
“No, you are right. She is no monster,” Søren said, turning his attention to the door. Zach followed the priest’s gaze. Unlike all the others the knob on this door was painted white and from it hung a familiar-looking riding crop—black with white braiding. And from within the room came a faint sound, a whimper of pain both poignant and plaintive like the cry of a child. Zach found Søren’s eyes on him. “But she is no saint, either.”
22
Zach heaved a sigh of relief when they returned to the bar at the end of his tour of the 8th Circle. Søren led him to a table elevated on a platform at the corner of the room farthest from the balcony. Clearly it was the best table in the house and reserved for Søren alone. When he and Zach took their seats, a small army of attendants, Griffin included, rushed the table to serve them.
“Care for a drink?” Søren asked as he reached out to casually stroke the hair and collared neck of the lovely young woman who waited at his feet.
“I’m afraid I’ve reached my two drink maximum.”
Søren gave him a slight smile. “I do have some sway here.”
“Another G&T.”
“Of course.” Søren leaned forward and the young woman rose up on her knees. He cupped his hand around her face and whispered something in her ear. She blushed, smiled and whispered something in reply. Søren paused and seemed to consider her words. He turned his head, whispered again and the girl rose and hurried to the bar.
“May I ask what that was about?”
“Simply giving her our drink order.” Søren snapped his fingers at Griffin and pointed to the floor. Immediately Griffin went down on his hands and knees at Søren’s feet displaying for them a perfectly flat back.
“Giving her our drink order required hushed whispering?” Zach asked.
“Not at all,” Søren said with dark amusement glimmering in his steel-colored eyes. “But even a drink order can be an intimate act when done properly.” He raised his legs, resting his feet on Griffin’s back. The girl returned with Zach’s gin and tonic and a glass of red wine for the priest.